


Disposable Children

by graveyardwitch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drama, Multi, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyardwitch/pseuds/graveyardwitch
Summary: Child prodigy and Journalism Graduate Clarke Griffin has just been offered her dream job on Time Magazine.  The catch?  First she must prove her mettle by going undercover among the homeless kids of Arcadia-A dangerous, hopeless city where everyone is disposable.  Once there she discovers a secret world, of Tribes and child warriors, where your crew is your family and blood must have blood ...And she discovers Bellamy Blake, a conflicted and dangerous leader with many dark secrets, who constantly does the wrong things for the right reasons.  But there are predators lurking in the shadows more dangerous than Bellamy and his Sky Crew have ever known and soon Clarke will have to choose between her old life and her new crew.





	1. Chapter one-The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is a WIP, but-as anyone who followed my other work on here 'Birds in Guilded Cages' knows-I update at least every two weeks and am determined not to let my readers down. If people want me to write the story, I'll write it for them, simple as that. 
> 
> Yes, this is a Bellarke fic. Now I know that this is a fandom with serious drama but here's the thing, I don't do drama. I'm bisexual myself and love Lexa as a character, but I love Bellamy too. I chose to make this a Bellarke fic as I find Bellamy fascinating as a character as he's so complex and I love his relationship with Clarke. That does not mean I have anything against Clexa. I loved them too. Yes, Lexa does appear in this story and no, I don't depict her as nasty or a bitch-I depict her as Lexa, and try to keep her very true to the Lexa in the show. If you don't like Bellarke but love Clexa then that's fine, there are loads of amazing Clexa fics on here, so you can go and read those. Just don't attack me for daring to write a Bellarke fic. I don't have the patience for that kind of thing. 
> 
> Ok? On with the story!

Chapter One- An Assignment.

 

Clarke shifted nervously in her seat, wondering what she’d done. Maybe it was the row she’d had in the lunchroom over gun control; or the gnarled old journalist she’d yelled at for thinking he could grab her ass just because she was an intern. She’d never been one to hold her tongue, but surely all that would have been a matter for personnel? She eyed the secretary seated at the desk opposite.

“Um, excuse me?”

At the sound of her voice the woman stopped typing and turned to peer over her glasses. “Yes?”

“Do you know why Ms Gibbs wants to speak to me? Am I in trouble?”

She opened her mouth to answer, before being interrupted by the intercom’s shrill buzz.

“Yes M’am?”

“Could you send Miss Griffin in please?”

“Certainly M’am.” She smirked at Clarke. “Looks like we’re about to find out.” 

Something in that smirk suggested she rather hoped she was. Oh well, it had been nice while it lasted. Clarke stood with a sigh, straightened her suit jacket and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The office she stepped into was vast. Floor to ceiling windows on one side offered a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline while the opposite wall was taken up with framed magazine covers and publishing awards. Everything in the room screamed opulence, from the way her heels sunk into the thick crimson carpet to the sheen on the antique furniture. Intimidating didn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Hello Miss Griffin.” The blonde woman seated behind the long oak desk was more petite than Clarke had imagined, but the sight of her still made her heart pound in her chest and her mouth go dry. This, she reflected, must be how regular girls her age felt when they saw a Kardashian. “I’m Time’s editor, Nancy…”

“…Gibbs. I know.” She rose from her seat to offer her hand and Clarke rushed to shake it. “It’s an honour to meet you. I’m a massive fan of yours. I swear I’ve read practically everything you’ve written. Thank you so much for picking me for the internship. You have no idea…”

“I don’t choose the interns.” Nancy Gibbs gave her a thin smile that did not reach her eyes before gesturing to the chair opposite. “Sit.” 

“Oh, o.k.” She rushed to obey, cheeks burning. The older woman turned her attention back to a file on the desk in front of her, flipping through it slowly.

“So…Clarke Griffin. Any relation to the late Jake Griffin?”

“He was my father.”

“Oh?” She looked up at that. “He was a fine investigative journalist.”

“Thank you.”

“But you are not him.” She went back to the file. “Graduated from The Beekman School at fourteen with an SAT score in the top 5% in the country; then completed three years of Harvard Medical School. Why did you leave?”

“I realised Medicine was my mother’s dream, not mine.”

“I see.” Another page of the file was turned slowly. “So you went to Emerson to study Journalism. Why? Did you want to be just like your father?”

“No, that wasn’t it. I’m fascinated with people. I like to find those people who are hidden in the shadows, those people no one really notices, and shine a light on them, tell their stories. I know that sounds stupid.” Nancy Gibbs didn’t reply, but for a moment Clarke fancied she saw her lips curl up at the corners. Then she slammed the file shut with such force it made Clarke jump. She narrowed her eyes at her.

“You seem to be a bit of a child prodigy, Miss Griffin.”

“Oh, thank…”

“But that won’t help you here. There are no facts to memorize that will make you a good writer, no exams to ace. It takes both talent and sheer bloody-mindedness. To prove your mettle here at Time magazine you have to push yourself, do whatever it takes to get the story, even if that means taking risks and putting yourself in danger. Are you willing to do that?”

It was a challenge. Clarke met her gaze and stuck her chin in the air. “Absolutely.”

“Good, because I have an assignment for you…”

“Wait…for me?” Suddenly her head was spinning with excitement and just the faintest hint of terror. To be able to intern at Time magazine was a dream come true, never mind being offered an assignment in her first week! “Oh my God!”

“Relax, honey. You’re just the right age for what I need and the least likely to blow it-hopefully. You are still a teenager, right?”

“Y-yeah, I’m eighteen.” She took a deep breath and composed herself. The last thing she wanted was for her idol to think she wasn’t up to the job. “So what’s the assignment?”

“Have you heard of Arcadia?”

“Sure.” Of course she had. Arcadia was a failing industrial town just outside the city that seemed to exist purely to drive up New York’s State’s crime statistics. Every time she and her mother drove through it on their way up to Vermont, they made sure to lock their doors.

“Well for the last few years there’s been a massive spike in the homeless population there-mostly teens. I want to know who these kids are, what their lives are like, what put them on the streets in the first place. We’ve had stories about the Homeless in New York before, but never one focusing specifically on the young. And I don’t want you to simply interview them-I want you to live among them, immerse yourself in their world so completely that you become one of them. I want them to trust you to the point that they’ll confide in you…And then I want you to take what they tell you and write a piece that’s so raw and heart-breaking that it’ll have all the socialites and rich house-wives in Manhattan sobbing into their morning lattes before organising a fundraiser, understand?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely! I can do that!”

For a moment the older woman seemed amused by her enthusiasm; then her expression became grave. “Clarke, I need you to think carefully about this. It’s an investigative piece. It will involve you going under-cover as one of these homeless kids-sleeping on the street with no money, no food and no protection. It could be extremely dangerous.”  
“Well, what’s in it for me?” It just came out, but rather than the anger she was expecting, Clarke was surprised to see Nancy Gibbs smirk.

“Bolshy-that’s what I heard about you; and that’s what made me think you out of all the interns could handle this. What’s in it for you, Clarke Griffin, is payment and a place on my freelance writing staff-if you’re good enough.” 

“Oh.” Clarke’s head was spinning again. “Oh, wow!”

“I suggest you go home tonight and think it over, perhaps discuss it with your family, and then give me your verdict.” She rose and crossed to open the door. “It was nice to meet you, Clarke.”

“Y-you too.” Clarke stumbled from the room on shaking legs and stood wondering what the hell had just happened.

“Well?” She turned to find the secretary peering at her curiously. “What did you do? Did she fire you?”

“No. She offered me a job.”

The secretary’s jaw almost hit the floor.

 

*********************

Three hours later and her mother wasn’t quite so thrilled.

“NO! No way, Clarke! Absolutely not!”

Clarke dumped the dirty plates into the kitchen sink and turned to face her. “Why not?”

“Because it’s insane! Do you have any idea how vulnerable you would be on the streets alone? You could be raped or murdered!”

“You think I don’t realise that?! But Mom, do you have any idea how much of an opportunity this is? There are award-winning writers who have spent years fighting to get on the Time Freelance list and she’s offering me a spot!”

“I don’t care. You are a child. You are too young for this.” Her mother turned and marched toward the door, dismissing her words with a wave of her hand. “So you just go in tomorrow and tell that woman…”

“I wasn’t too young to study for twelve hours each day!” 

At her shout her mother stopped and turned to look over her shoulder at her with a weary sigh. “Clarke, don’t start this again…”

Bust she wasn’t going to brush her off, not this time. Clarke marched across the room to block her path, meeting her gaze with a glare. “No! You wanted to know why I dropped out, so I’m going to tell you and you’re going to listen! An hour of study before school and six hours afterwards, five days a week, then study all weekend. Then it was medical school; hours more study squashed between fourteen hour shifts at the hospital. I WAS a child Mom! And I was exhausted! But you just kept pushing! You didn’t care! As long as I became a surgeon, like YOU wanted, then you didn’t care! You didn’t care that I was miserable, that I hated every second! You didn’t even care that it was making me sick! Well this is for me. This is what I want! It’s everything I have ever wanted. Please Mom- I need you to understand that.” She reached to lay a hand on her mother’s shoulder, only for her to shrug it off. When she spoke her voice was quiet, her words measured.

“It was everything your father ever wanted too. And look where it got him.”

And there it was-the elephant in the room. Just for a moment her mother’s mask slipped and Clark saw the raw, aching grief beneath. It was enough to make her own eyes fill with tears, but she wiped them away with her hand and pressed on. “It won’t be like that, Mom. I’m not leaving the country; I’m only going up-state. If it gets too much I can get a train back to Manhattan.”

But her mother wasn’t listening. “I lost your father to that fucking job, Clarke, and I’m not losing you too. At least in an operating room you would have been safe.”

“But I wouldn’t have been happy.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” She pushed past her and marched toward the door before spinning on her heel to glare at her. “I’d rather you were safe. You’re eighteen years old Clarke and the bottom line is that you’re not going anywhere! So tomorrow you’re going back into that woman’s office and you’re going to thank her but tell her that she can risk someone else’s kid’s life for her story, are we clear? CLARKE?!”

Clarke knew from her tone of voice that there was no point arguing anymore. “Crystal.”

“Good.” She left, slamming the door behind her, and Clarke watched it vibrate in the frame as she made up her mind. 

 

By 9 p.m the next morning she was standing on the platform in Penn station wearing her hiking boots and warmest jacket, a rucksack, sleeping bag and bed roll slung across her back. The train pulled up at the platform with a screech of brakes and she climbed aboard, flopping down on a window seat. As it pulled away and started the three hour journey toward Arcadia she reached into her pocket and lifted out the phone card, turning it over in her fingers thoughtfully. It had been given to her by the magazine, just in case something went wrong or she simply couldn’t cope anymore. All she needed to do was call them and they’d wire her the money for a ticket home. It was her Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card, in a way. 

She slid it into her inside pocket and zipped it safely away, determined not to use, before opening the candy bar she’d bought for breakfast.


	2. Chapter Two-Sky Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds herself in a dangerous situation, and is rescued by the last people she'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter is HUGE! Warnings for swearing, although I'm sure you guys aren't that innocent. violence and attempted rape.

Chapter Two-Sky Crew

 

That candy bar was the last piece of food she’d have to eat until two days later when she managed to grab a dropped burger from the sidewalk before the pigeons got to it. People pushed past her as she crammed it ravenously into her mouth, some visibly recoiling, as if her perceived poverty was somehow infectious. Above her the light was slowly seeping from a charcoal sky, and she knew that she needed to find a safe place to sleep before it disappeared altogether. She finished eating and stumbled on, ignoring the aching in the balls of her feet and the way her muscles screamed beneath the weight of her rucksack. 

As she walked she slid her hand into her pocket, fingering the curved corners of the phone card. The past two days had not been a success. Any homeless kids she’d met had been less interested in making friends than in trying to steal her sleeping-bag or searching her for drugs. She’d almost been beaten up four times already. It would be so easy…Find a phone box, use the card, and be back in Manhattan soaking in a bubble bath before midnight. But that would be quitting and she wasn’t a quitter-at least not yet. No, she was going to give it at least a week-even if it killed her. 

She rounded a corner and found herself facing an abandoned ice rink. The glass doors were cracked and boarded up, but the overhanging roof would provide shelter from the rain that had begun to fall in icy threads. She hurried towards it and bedded down for the night, curling up on her bedroll and wrapping her sleeping bag tightly about her, a cocoon against the cold. Exhausted and promising herself that it would all somehow be worth it in the end, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

Half an hour later she was in for a rude awakening…

“OH FUCK NO!” Strong fingers jabbed into her shoulders, skinny hands pulling her upwards as she flailed, panicking. The girl that was now shaking her like a rag doll was skeleton thin, her hair matted with filth and her bloodshot eyes sunken in her skull so that she looked, to Clarke’s sleep-fogged mind, like some sort of zombie. “YOU DON’T SLEEP HERE! THIS IS OUR SPOT!”

“GET OFF ME! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” She struggled, kicking out and the girl shoved her backwards with such force that she fell. Her head smacked off the concrete and her vision swam. When it cleared the girl was above her, boot raised. She only had time to roll into a ball before the first kicks collided with her ribs, her stomach. “AHHH! STOP! STOP IT!”

“YOU AREN’T ONE OF US! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, SQUATTIN’ HERE BITCH? HUH?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!”

If she could only get to her feet maybe she’d have a chance…She stuck out a hand for leverage, only to scream in pain as the girl ground it into the pavement with her heel. “STAY DOWN BITCH!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN IT! JUST LET ME UP AND I’LL GO!”

“LIKE FUCK YOU WILL!” 

A kick caught her in the face and Clarke felt her nose begin to gush as her mouth filled up with the metallic taste of blood. She tried to swallow and choked, gasping as blood bubbled from between her lips. This was it-This girl was going to kill her, kick her to death in an empty street, and her mother would never know what had happened to her.  
And then, suddenly, the kicking stopped. 

“ECHO! CHRIST ECHO, GET OFF HER! Easy Echo…Easy…” 

Clarke sat up. As her vision cleared she could just make out the girl snarling like a wild animal as she struggled in the arms of a filthy youth. 

“LET ME GO, YOU SON OF A BITCH! THIS IS MY CREW’S SPOT!”

“Yeah, I get that!” He spun the girl round to face him, holding her at arms length as she snapped at him. “But how’s she gonna remember if you kick her brains out, huh?! Echo…Echo…Look at me. I get that ‘Crazy bitch’ is your whole aesthetic, but you kill her and you’ll only have to dump the corpse, clean the mess…You really think your crew could be fucked with all that? I doubt it. Sooo much mess. And if they didn’t get it all then the Pigs will come sniffin’. You could be the reason your crew loses its spot. Do you really want that?”

At that the girl seemed to waver. “Um, no…b-but she can’t stay here…”

“Then why don’t you go back inside and I’ll move her on, o.k? Go on…” The girl hesitated, then he released her and she stumbled towards a door, moved a board back and disappeared inside. The youth strode over and crouched, holding his hand out to Clarke. “Here.” She took it and he tugged her to her feet. For a moment she stood swaying before a wave of nausea engulfed her and she fell forward, vomiting onto the ground. He rubbed her back. “That’s it Blondie, get it all up. Never know; you might find a few of your teeth in there. Maybe we could stick ‘em back in with gum or somethin’.”

After heaving until her back hurt, Clarke straightened up, wiping her mouth with her hand, and really looked at him for the first time. He was a few inches taller than her and white, with greasy dark blonde hair and a nose that had been broken a few too many times. His expression was sullen but his green eyes were sharp, drinking her in with a calculating interest. Something about him seemed inherently sneaky, but, then again, he had saved her when he could have just walked past.

“T-thank-you.”

He shrugged. “It was nothin’.”

“You saved my life! I thought she was going to kill me…”

“Probably.” He began to walk away and, reluctant to lose the first person who hadn’t ignored her or tried to rob her, Clarke snatched up her things and hurried after him. “So Blondie, you sleepin’ rough?”

“It’s Clarke. And yes, yes I am. You?”

“Mostly.”

“Did you know that girl?”

“Yeah, sure, everyone knows Echo. She’s a nut-job. I mean, all the crews are possessive ‘bout their spots, but Ice Nation takes it to extremes. You’re lucky she didn’t have a blade.”

He crossed the road and Clarke followed, dodging cars and trying to ignore the throbbing of her ribs and face. “Ice Nation?”

“Yeah-the gang of kids who bed down in the old ice rink. All the crews have their own names based on where they bed down. Ice Nation have the ice rink, Tree Crew bed down in the park, Pirate Crew at the docks, Sky Crew on Sky Street…you get the idea. Gives them a sense of belonging or some shit. You don’t squat in another crews’ territory or you’ll get the crap kicked outta ya.”

“So which crew do you belong to?”

He fixed her with a wry smirk. “None baby, I like to fly solo.”

They turned left between two buildings and Clarke suddenly found herself in a narrow alleyway lined with over-flowing dumpsters. Above her the night drew in further, sending dark shadows fleeing across the alleys high brick walls. Slowly, she became aware of how muffled the traffic noise from the street had become, how far away. A creeping feeling along her spine told her she was being watched, and she turned to find the youth standing close behind her- too close. There was suddenly something unsettling about the way his green eyes searched her face before moving to rove slowly down over her body, something…predatory. She tried to keep calm.

“So, um, is this where you sleep?”

“Depends.” He stepped toward her and suddenly seemed to fill the alleyway, blocking her escape. His voice became smooth as an oil slick. “Do you want it to be?”  
The implication was clear. She swallowed. “I better go. My face hurts and I need to find a place to bed down.” She made to push past him and he stuck out an arm to block her way. 

“Where do you think you’re going Blondie? You owe me.”

She was scared now, but damned if she was going to show it. “I don’t owe you anything. Get the hell out of my way!”

Again she made to push past him. This time he grabbed her arms, holding her in place. He pressed his mouth to her ear and she recoiled at the smell of his foul breath. “You’re obviously new to this; but here on the street nobody does nothin’ out of the goodness of their hearts. I stopped Echo beating the shit out of you, so you owe me.” He stepped back again, without releasing her, and looked her up and down, licking his lips. “So I’m gonna give you a choice-Either you be nice to me right now, or you can come with me and be nice to some friends of mine later. It’s up to you.”

Well neither of those was ever going to happen if she could help it. Thinking quickly she affected a worried expression. “Um, ok. Then I choose you, I’ll be nice to you, and then you’ll leave me alone?”

“Sure thing, Blondie.” He looked so smug that she wanted to smash his face in.

Shrugging off her pack, she reached out to take hold of the top button of his fly. He lowered his gaze to watch her….and she grabbed hold of his head and kneed him hard in the face. He stumbled backwards, bellowing in pain and she dodged round him, bolting towards the ally entrance. But he was too quick for her, diving on top of her and sending her sprawling onto the ground.

“STUPID BITCH!” He flipped her over and straddled her waist, punching her in the face. “That’s it! You gotta do both now!”

And then he was ripping at her clothes, tearing her shirt, and she was crying, begging, choking on blood.

“NO! NO! Please no! Please, don’t do this! PLEASE!”

“SHUT UP!”

“Please don’t. Please, just let me go! STOP!”

Out of nowhere came a screech of tyres and the alleyway suddenly seemed to be filled with a blinding white light. A guttural scream filled the air, like a war cry…And then a slender figure was crouching above her in a fighting stance, lips curled back from its teeth in a snarl. A blade flashed above its head.

“GET THE FUCK OFF HER, MURPHY, BEFORE I CUT YOU IN HALF!”

The youth released her and straightened up, hands held up in supplication. “Wow, chill out Pocahontas! She owes me! I’M COLLECTIN’ A DEBT!”

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE! JASPER! MONTY!”

From behind them came the sound of running feet. Realising that he was out-numbered, Clarke’s attacker spun on his heel and took off. There was another flash of steel; then the figure crouched down in front of Clarke…

…And became a girl; a slender, pretty, pixie-like teenage girl with tanned skin and chocolate brown hair that was a mess of grease and braids. “Hey, you o.k?” She reached out a tiny hand and Clarke took it, letting her pull her up into a sitting position. “Shit, you look pretty beat up. Did that asshole do that to you? I shoulda cut him.”

“No…yes…well some of it. A girl from Ice Nation was beating me up and he pretended he was rescuing me.” Clarke wiped her face with her sleeve. 

“From Ice Nation to John Murphy-Holy shit; talk about out of the frying pan into the fire.”

“Well he would have raped me if you hadn’t stopped him. Thank-you..?”

“Octavia. And don’t worry about it. Murphy’s a prick so any time I get to scare him is fun. Think you can stand?”

“I think so. I’m Clarke.”

The girl took Clarke’s arm over her shoulder and helped her to her feet, where she found herself facing two panting teenage boys; one an Asian kid with over-long jet black hair, and the other a skinny white kid with a pair of plastic googles perched on top of his floppy brown hair. Behind them a Chevy truck idled, its head-lights illuminating the alleyway.  
“Son of a bitch dodged through traffic before we could catch him.”

“Shit, she’s a mess! What are we gonna do with her?”

Octavia turned to look at her. “So Clarke, you new in Arcadia?” She nodded. “You got somewhere to squat?”

“No.”

She turned back to the boys. “She’s coming home with us. Raven won’t mind.”

“O.k cool.” The Asian boy went back to the truck and climbed inside, leaving his friend to stare at them uncertainly. 

“Bel’s not gonna like this, O.”

“So, what? We leave her out here, injured and alone?”

He squirmed beneath Octavia’s glare. “Well no…But he’s gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t worry Jasper, I’ll handle him. Help me get her in the back.” 

The boy called Jasper nodded and took Clarke’s other arm, helping her climb into the truck bed before going back to the cab. The girl propped her carefully against the side before joining her as the engine spluttered to life. Clarke turned to her.

“So what are you gonna do to me?”

To her surprise Octavia gave her a kind smile. “Well, until we can get this ol’ truck stripped and the parts sold, we don’t have any food; but we can clean you up, give you somethin’ to drink and a warm place to sleep tonight.”

It all sounded so good…too good to be true. “And what will I have to do to pay you back?”

Octavia shook her head. “That may be how the others do it, but Sky Crew’s different. That’s not how we roll.” 

“So you’re Sky Crew.” Clarke sat back, taking her in. Up close the girl’s face was covered in scars, a map of past abuse, her moss green eyes ringed with purple. “Octavia, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.” She looked too world-weary to be that young. Then Clarke spotted something slung across her back. She squinted at it…No, it couldn’t be…

“Is that a fucking sword?!”

Octavia beamed proudly. “Hell yeah!” She reached back and drew out a very long, very sharp blade that looked somewhere between a machete and a katana. “This is my baby. We hit this rich guy’s house a few months back and he had it on a stand. Sharpened up well.” She stroked it lovingly.

 

“Y-you mean you actually use that thing?”  
Octavia stared at her, confused. “Well sure. Jesus, you are new to this aren’t you? Welcome to the jungle Clarke. It’s kill or be killed here and I’m determined not to die.”

***********************

 

She must have dozed off because next thing she knew they’d jerked to a stop and Octavia was shaking her gently.

“Clarke? Hey Clarke, wake up. We’re home.” 

“Home?” 

“Yeah.” Octavia gave her a smirk before swinging herself over the side of the truck. “Come on.” She let Octavia help her out and looked about her. The rain had finally stopped, and the orange light from the streetlights danced in the puddles on the slick black pavement. The night was still now, almost expectant. The street they were on was lined with over-grown trees and derelict houses, their walls daubed with graffiti and the glass shards of their broken windows jutting up from the frames like teeth. Octavia turned her around and waved her arm expansively. “TAH DAH!”

Clarke stared. In front of them stood a vast gothic church, constructed from grey stone and red brick, its spire, parapets and pointed roof reminiscent of some Transylvanian castle. Once grandiose, it now exuded an air of melancholy decay, its lead windows cracked and smashed in places, ivy and other weeds winding their way up its walls and sprouting from between its bricks. 

“You actually live here?”

“Yep. Welcome to the church on Sky street.”

Behind them Jasper leaned out of the truck window.

“We’ll go hide this round back and see you guys inside, o.k?”

“Sure.” They watched them pull away. “Come on, Clarke.” Octavia climbed nimbly over a rusty padlocked gate into an overgrown graveyard, and Clarke followed. She led her to an arched door of rotting wood and leaned all her weight on it until it creaked open just enough for them to squeeze through. 

Inside, the air was cool and dim, pungent with the acrid stench of rat droppings, damp, and urine. Octavia led her through the porch and into the main part of the building. This inner sanctum was vast. Above them three great gothic arches rose to bosses carved with cherubs, demons and gargoyles which supported an overhanging gallery lined with cobweb-strewn benches. The shattered stained glass in the narrow windows was a dozen rich colours, with bright streamers of streetlight breaking through the holes to illuminate the dust motes in the air and tease the edges of the shadows in the many deep corners. To their far right, at the opposite side of the room, stood an arched doorway, which Clarke guessed led to the gallery above and the crypts below. Outside cars roared, but in here the noise seemed smothered by the sacred silence. 

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness Clarke slowly became aware of piles of blankets and cardboard constructed like nests in corners, of a fire that burned brightly in the centre of the room…and of a figure seated in a chair in front of it, a blanket draped over its head and shoulders. The tip of a cigarette glowed. 

“Home sweet home.” Behind her Octavia shut the door carefully, before taking off her battered leather jacket and tossing it onto the floor. She marched toward the fire and Clarke hurried after her. “Hey Raven!” 

At the sound of her voice, the figure lowered the blanket and revealed itself to be a teenage girl, older than Octavia but not by much, olive-skinned and dark, pretty and smoking furiously. “Octavia, you guys better have somethin’ for me to tear apart ‘cause I’m goin’ out of my fuckin’ mind here.”

Octavia flopped down beside her and hugged her knees to her chest, grinning up at her impishly. “Sure we do. Boosted us a Chevy LUV. The boys are parkin’ it out back right now.”

“Amazing.” Then her smile faded. “Any sign of Harper or Fox?”

Octavia’s expression became grim and she hugged her knees tighter, biting her lip. “No; nothin’. We checked out the Mall and asked round all the cafes that give out leftovers at the end of the day. We even braved the Park- y’know, ‘cause Harper liked goin’ there sometimes to pick flowers? We asked round all the crews, but nobody’s seen ‘em. It’s been two weeks, Raven.”

Raven reached down to reassure her, stroking her hair in a way that struck Clarke as quite maternal. “They could have just moved on. People move on all the time, you know that.”

But Octavia shook her head grimly. “No way, they had nothin’ to move on to. And they were part of our crew-you don’t just leave your crew without saying anything.”

“We’ll find them O.” 

“But what if someone’s made sure they can’t be found?”

“Who are Harper and Fox?”

At the sound of her voice, Raven turned and seemed to notice Clarke for the first time. Her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who the fuck is this?”

“This is Clarke.” Octavia gestured for her to join them and Clarke dropped down beside her, relishing the heat of the fire on her cold skin. “We spotted that shithead Murphy tryin’ to break into her on the way back from boostin’ the car, and chased him off. She hasn’t been out long and she’s got nowhere to squat. Where’s Bellamy?”

“Gone.” 

“He say where?”

“Nope.” They exchanged a meaningful look. “But I guess he’ll be back tomorrow and he’ll have somethin’ to eat.”

Octavia shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”

“He’s a big boy…”

“He could be getting himself in trouble.”

“Well I don’t know where he goes, but he always comes back. So you gotta trust him; we all have to.” Raven sighed. “Look, there’s water and bandages over in the vestry. Why don’t you go fetch them and we’ll see if we can patch up Clarke here?”

“O.k, fine.” Octavia jumped to her feet and stomped off into the shadows. Raven turned to Clarke, fumbling in her pocket and pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. She held it out to her. “Wanna smoke?”

“No thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Raven chuckled at that. “Well, you soon will. Keeps the hunger pains at bay.” She pocketed the pack again and took a deep drag of her own cigarette, blowing the smoke slowly out into the air between them. “So tell me Clarke, what’s your story? How did a pretty blonde all-American girl like you wind up here?”

Clarke was prepared for this. “My Mom and I never got along. She was pretty crazy, controlling as hell. We’d have these fights and she’d completely lose it with me. Then her boyfriend Marcus moved in with us and it got even worse. He started getting involved, know what I mean? Stuff…started happening. Soon I couldn’t stand it anymore, so one night after a really bad fight I just packed a bag and I ran.” She’d worked hard on the story-adding just enough authenticity to make it easy to remember, while keeping it vague enough for her audience to fill in the blanks. Raven nodded knowingly.

“This guy Marcus…He a real bastard?”

“Yeah, total prick.”

“He raise a hand to you?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

At that, Raven seemed to come to a decision. “O.k, I get it. Tell you what, you can stay with us tonight but I can’t make any promises about longer. It’s not just my decision, see?”

A wave of relief washed over Clarke. “Yeah, yeah I understand. Thanks.”

“Here, you must be thirsty.” Octavia emerged from the shadows clutching a wad of cloth bandages, a bottle and a chipped mug that she pressed into Clarkes hands. It was just water, but to her parched throat it tasted better than the finest wine. 

The door creaked open and the two boys, Monty and Jasper, appeared. Monty greeted Raven with a wink and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Hey Raven, we’ve got you a present.”

She flicked her cigarette into the fire. “Yeah, I heard. So what are you waiting for? Help me up.” To Clarke’s surprise and shock, Jasper hurried to her, lifting her up. She slumped against him, clinging to him with her arms around his neck, while Monty disappeared behind her chair and then re-emerged holding a pair of old-fashioned crutches. As they lifted her upright she closed her eyes, her face twisting in agony as she set her feet on the floor; but once the crutches were beneath each arm she pasted on a smile. “Right, now show me this Chevy!”

Clarke watched them go, noting how Raven’s left leg dragged behind her, paralysed and useless. She turned to Octavia.

“What happened to her?”

The younger girl sighed. “You’re not the only one who had a step-father problem.” She tipped the bottle onto one of the bandages. “Look, I’m not a doctor but I’ll do my best. Come here. This is probably gonna sting.”

“What is it? Iodine?”

“Vodka.” 

She moved to sit cross-legged in front of her and let Octavia clean and bandage her wounds. Once she’d finished she fetched more blankets and they swaddled themselves like babes before lying down facing each other, as close to the fire as safely possible.

“So…How did you end up on the streets?” The yellow firelight danced across Octavia’s face, illuminating the tears that shone in her eyes. “I guess it’s a long story?”

Octavia sniffed. “My mother was murdered.”

Apparently not that long. Clarke didn’t know what to say. Everything in her wanted to take this tiny, scarred girl and just hold her. But she knew that anything she did would be cold comfort. So instead she lay and watched as Octavia slid her sword from her shoulders and fell asleep cuddling it to her chest, the way a small child holds a teddy bear to keep the nightmares away. 

 

*****************************

 

She woke to the sound of an argument raging. Some instinct deep within told her to feign sleep and she held her breath, concentrating on the voices beyond until she could identify which belonged to each of the kids she’d met the night before. But there was one…Deep, gruff and unfamiliar.

“…You don’t know anythin’ about her! She could have knifed all of you in your fucking sleep and made off with all our shit!” 

“He was going to rape her!” Octavia, pleading.

“NOT OUR PROBLEM O!” It was a roar, so full of barely contained fury that it made Clarke flinch.

Then came Jasper, appealing. “Shit Bel, calm down! We just gave her a place to squat. She didn’t do nothin’.”

And Raven, her tone purposefully calm and mature in the face of this stranger’s anger. “It’s not Octavia’s fault, Bel-It’s mine. I said she could stay…”

“Christ Raven! I leave you in charge for one fuckin’ night…”

And then Octavia, now also furious. “EXACTLY! YOU LEFT US! AGAI N! And you come back lookin’ like you got hit by a fuckin’ truck and with eight hundred dollars in your pocket. So tell us Bel, where do you go? And what do you do? Did you rob a bank? Kill a man? Is it drugs, huh? Typical Bellamy, ‘do as I say, not as I do.’ So what is it? Weed? Or is it harder? Heroin, Crack, Meth? Jesus Christ; did Finn mean that little…”

“It’s not drugs.”

“THEN WHAT IS IT? WHAT?”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Octavia, huh? I look after my crew! I put a roof over your heads; I watch out for you, I feed you...WHAT THE FUCK MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

Shock radiated through the ensuing silence. The air suddenly hummed with tension. Clarke risked twitching a corner of the blanket away so she could peer through.

Just beyond the dying embers of the fire, Jasper, Monty and Raven stood in a circle. In their midst stood Octavia and an unfamiliar youth. He was as dark and swarthy as she was, and just as feral, but in his primal wildness there seemed to be an undertone of something vicious. Like her, he was scarred, but most of his old wounds were criss-crossed with new ones, scarlet blood crusting on his split lips, bruises still blooming along his filthy cheeks. He was older than them all, possibly in his early twenties, lean as the others but still strong, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath his ragged bomber jacket as he grabbed hold of Octavia and shook her like a rag doll, his fingers digging into the flesh of her arms. He towered over the skinny girl…but Octavia looked far from afraid. Instead they snarled at each other, teeth bared, like two panthers from the same pride. 

“What are you gonna do, Bel? You gonna hit me? You got no reason to, an’ you know it!”

For a split second it looked like he just might. Then his black eyes flickered from her…To Clarke.

“YOU!” He tossed Octavia aside and surged towards her.

She barely had time to untangle herself from the blankets before he was on her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and dragging her backwards as she screamed.

“FUCKING HELL! STOP!”

“STOP IT! YOU’RE HURTING HER!” 

Monty and Jasper ran to grab at him, but he batted them away like flies. 

“BELLAMY, STOP IT!”

“LET ME GO! AHHH!” Clarke struggled, feet scrambling for purchase on the dusty floor as she reached up to claw at his hand. But still he dragged her as the others gaped at him in horror, depositing her in a heap at the church door before going back for her bedroll and pack. Clarke shrunk back as he stalked towards her again, face twisted in anger.  
Then Octavia stepped between them, shielding her from him, completely fearless. “Stop being a bastard, Bel, and listen to me! You can’t send her back out there; not now. Murphy’s not the worst thing out there anymore…You know that.”

“She’s right, Bellamy.” Raven hobbled forward on her crutches. “What’s one more? And she could be useful.”

To Clarke’s amazement he seemed for a moment to waver, uncertainty ghosting over his face, chased by…was that concern? Guilt, maybe? He looked down at her. “O.k sweetheart, what you got to offer?”

She stared up at him, bewildered. “Uh, I don’t know what…I mean…”

“You a good thief?”

“What?”

“Can you hotwire a car like Jasper? Strip it down for parts like Raven? Hack into a security system like Monty?”

“Umm, no…”

“Can you use a gun? A knife? A sword? Tell me princess, can you hold your own in a fight like Octavia? Like me?”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “No.”

“Then you got nothing to offer me or my crew.” He turned back to where the others stood glaring at him, obviously furious and aching to run forward and stop him, but held in place by…Was it fear? No, Clarke suddenly realised, it wasn’t fear-it was respect. There was a pecking order here. This was a gang-And this Bellamy was obviously the boss. “I’m not runnin’ a fuckin’ charity here. We can’t take on another mouth to feed, especially if she isn’t going to do nothin’ to earn it. Raven?” Raven, obviously the Second in this tribe, avoided Clarke’s pleading stare as she nodded in agreement. “That’s it then.”

And, without another word, he yanked open the door, picked her up, and tossed her out as if she was a heap of trash.

She landed on the church steps with a thud, her pack and bedroll sailing over her head to land in a tangled rose-bush beside the fence. She scrambled to her feet just in time to see the huge oak door slam shut behind her.

“WELL FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

It didn’t make them open the door again, but it did make her feel a little bit better. Even through the fog of a rapidly descending headache she felt a twinge of disappointment as she realised that could have been her only chance at a story. Oh well, time to use that phone card. She retrieved her things from the rose bush and started to climb the gate.

“Hey Clarke, wait!” She turned to find Octavia jogging toward her. 

“Octavia?”

She gave her a sheepish grin. “Look, I’m so sorry about him…”

“It’s o.k. I just feel sorry for you, having to live with him. He is one bastard.”

“Tell me about it. Here, I got somethin’ for you.” She reached into the pocket of her ragged jeans and tugged out a scrunched up ball of dollar bills, pressing them into Clarke’s hand. “I can’t let you go back out there with nothin’.”

“Oh no Octavia, I can’t…”

“Sure you can. Just spend it on food, yeah?”

“But what about that guy? Won’t he hurt you?”

To her surprise, Octavia shrugged. “Who? Bellamy? He’ll be pissed, sure…But he won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Oh.” She was mortified, but Octavia didn’t seem to notice. Instead she flung her arms around her, whispering in her ear as she hugged her close.

“Good luck Clarke. May we meet again.”

Then she was gone, running, weaving through the crumbling gravestones and disappearing round the side of the church, leaving Clarke to stare after her in confusion. It was such a strange thing to say, almost ritualistic…

Then it hit her and she could have kicked herself. Not ritualistic-Tribal. Two years of Social Anthropology class and she’d still been looking at it all wrong, viewing the homeless kids in Arcadia as simply an underclass when they weren’t that at all. They were different even from homeless in other places. The crews, the hierarchy, the territory, the value placed on fighting-They’d devolved into a Tribal society. And in Tribal society a person was only valued if they could contribute somehow to the well-being of the tribe as a whole. She needed to work out a way to be of use to them.

She swung her rucksack onto her shoulder and limped out onto the street. The searing scream of sirens assaulted her ears and she looked up to see an ambulance flying towards her. She stopped, her gaze following its flashing sirens as it swerved through traffic and rounded a corner, skidding to a stop outside a massive Victorian red brick building. A cracked sign hung above its doors.

 

“ARCADIA MEDICAL CENTRE.” 

She hurried off in the direction of the hospital, a planning forming in her mind with every step. 

 

*****************************************

 

Four hours later she was back, standing in front of the church with a bag full of stolen drugs and medical supplies hanging from one shoulder. The security at the hospital had been even more lax than she could have hoped. She raised a hand to examine the uneven stitches used to close a gaping cut on her palm and reflected that she would have done a far better job herself-it truly was a terrible hospital. She pounded on the door, hearing the knocks echo around the empty space inside, a murmur of voices…And then footsteps. The door was wrenched open and she jumped back in shock as the muzzle of a sawn-off shotgun was pointed directly into her face. Behind it the swarthy youth, Bellamy, glared at her, dark eyes blazing and full mouth twisted in irritation.

“I thought I told you to stay away. Fuck off.” He lowered the gun and made to slam the door in her face-but Clarke was too quick for him. She jammed her boot in the doorway, meeting his glare with her own.

“No you didn’t. You said I had nothing to offer you. But you’re wrong.” He looked her up and down, before raising his eyebrows meaningfully. 

“Sorry Princess, I’m not into blondes.”

“You wish. It’s something else. And I’m not leaving until you hear me out.” 

With that she shoved past him and into the church, where Octavia, Raven, Jasper and Monty sat by the fire, surrounded by car parts. At the sight of her they all scrambled to their feet, their gazes flitting curiously from her to Bellamy and back again.

“Clarke!” Octavia sounded surprised. “What are you doing here? Are you staying after all?” Though the question was directed at her, Octavia’s eyes were on Bellamy, searching his face for answers. Bellamy shrugged.

“That depends. So Clarke, what is it exactly that you think you can offer me and my crew?”

She took off the bag and held it up for them all to see. “Medical supplies-bandages, creams, syringes, suture kits…And drugs- painkillers and antibiotics. I stole them from the hospital.”

“Nice one!” Monty nodded at her in approval, before shrinking back from the heat of Bellamy’s warning stare. 

He considered her thoughtfully for a moment. Slowly, he lowered the shotgun so that the barrel was pointed squarely at her chest. “So what’s to stop me taking those supplies and just shooting you, hmm?”

“You’re not a killer.”

“You don’t know me.”

Clarke’s heart was pounding in her ears, her mind spinning with terror. But that was what he wanted, she told herself-he was testing her to see if she could be as brave as the rest. She swallowed and, slowly and without ever breaking his gaze, stepped forward until the barrel rested against her jacket. When she spoke her voice was steady. “I know how to use them. My mother is a doctor, she’s taught me a lot over the years. I’ve a diploma in Anatomy and Physiology and I’m trained in First Aid. What can I offer you and your crew? If you’re injured, I can keep you alive.” She didn’t wait for his answer but instead turned to Raven. “Your left leg is paralysed, but it wasn’t your leg that you damaged, was it? It was your back.” 

Raven’s eyes widened in shock. “Yeah. Told him I was gonna tell the cops what he was doin’ to me, so the son of a bitch beat the shit out of me with a baseball bat. Smacked me square across the kidneys and my leg went numb.”

“You have peripheral neuropathy of the peronial nerve-the nerve that controls movement in that leg. I can’t fix it, but I stole you something that will help you walk again without crutches.” She reached into the bag and pulled out the brace, holding it up for them all to see. “Want to give it a try?”

Raven’s gaze automatically flitted to Bellamy, who nodded his permission.

“Yeah, sure Doc.” She watched Clarke curiously as she moved to kneel by her chair and guided her leg into the brace, strapping it tightly around her calf and thigh before looking up at her with a smile. 

“Ready to walk?”

Raven was working hard to hide her excitement, but Clarke could see the shine in her eyes. “Ready to give it a shot.” Clarke pulled her arm over her shoulders, guided her carefully to her feet…And stepped back. For a moment Raven seemed to wobble and Jasper and Monty tensed, ready to rush forward and catch her. Then she righted herself…took one step…then another…then another…”HOLY SHIT!” She turned to them, her face lighting up. “Check it out bitches! NO CRUTCHES!” At her shout Octavia, Jasper and Monty rushed forward. As they inspected the brace Raven caught her eye and mouthed a thank-you.

“You’re welcome.” Clarke turned to where Bellamy was watching. Once side of his face was still swollen, one eye blacked and his cheeks covered in cuts and bruises. “I could help you too-If you’ll let me. That wound on your chin looks like it could do with a stitch, and those cuts need cleaned before they get infected.” He ignored her. “So, can I stay?”

“Food’s scarce as it is.”

“Quit being an asshole Bel.” Octavia took a step toward her brother and he held out a warning hand to stop her. “She’s better with us than bein’ out there alone right now.”

He sighed. “Raven?”

Raven turned to him, arching an eyebrow reproachfully, and gesturing to her brace. “Come on Bellamy, it makes sense. We’re down another two crew members, and you know Ice Nation has their eye on this place. We also need a Healer and she’s a good one, ‘cause check it out-I’m standing. It’s in Sky Crew’s best interests.”

At her words he seemed to deflate. “Ok. She can stay.” He lowered the gun and gestured to Clarke to move over into a corner. “Over there. Now!”

At first she hesitated, wary, but Raven reached to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s o.k. It’s just something you gotta do. He won’t hurt you.” 

“But why?” And then he had hold of her arm, trailing her away from the others as she struggled. “Let go of me!”

He shoved her into the corner and pointed at her clothes. “Strip.”

“What? No! Why?” She turned to look back at them in frightened confusion. “What is this?”

“Bel, I don’t think…” Octavia made to approach them, only for her brother to raise a warning hand to her again. 

“Back off, O. She does it, or she leaves.”

Octavia reluctantly obeyed, shooting her a look of sympathy. “Just do what he says Clarke. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Do you get high?”

She turned back to Bellamy who was watching her suspiciously. “What? No! I’ve never done drugs.”

“Then you don’t mind me checking. Strip!” 

“But I just told you…”

“Junkies lie. Take your fucking clothes off now before I do it for you.”

Panic seized her when she saw from his expression that this was no idle threat. 

“Everything?”

“Just down to underwear. That can be pushed aside.”

“If you try anything…”

“I don’t break into girls. I don’t need to. Today, Princess!”

Behind him the others had gone back to tinkering with the car parts, careful to keep their eyes averted. Surely one of them would run over and stop him if he tried anything? But she didn’t know them, not really. All she had was his word. She stole a glance at him and was surprised to see that, far from leering, he’d turned his back on her, as if to give her some privacy. Unsure of what else to do, she started to undress, kicking off her boots, shrugging off her jacket and then peeling off every layer until there was a pile of clothes at her feet and she was standing in front of him in her bra and panties, exposed and vulnerable and hating him for it. “Ready.”

Face expressionless, he stepped toward her and grabbed first one arm, then the other, twisting and turning them as he examined her pale skin with the detached interest of a doctor inspecting a patient, lifting them up to examine her armpits, and checking between each finger. Then he moved down to her thighs, the backs of her knees and between her toes. The skin on his hands was course…But his touch was oddly gentle. He lifted her leg to inspect the sole of her foot, she wobbled, and he automatically caught hold of her hip, steadying her. 

“Thanks.”

He grunted in reply…And then stepped toward her, close, so close that she could smell the scent of musk, damp and cigarettes that clung to his clothes. She made to step away and he caught her arm, holding her in place as his hand moved to her chest.

“Don’t…” He ignored her squeak of protest. She lifted her eyes to the church’s vaulted ceiling, blinking back tears as he pushed down the cups of her bra to peer at her breasts. Then his fingertips came to rest on the waistband of her panties and she swallowed a sob. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” It was a whisper, designed to reassure. 

“You try anything and I’ll fucking kill you.”

He snorted in derision…And then he was on his knees in front of her, fingers on her waistband again, and she covered her face with her hands, cheeks burning with humiliation at the position she was in, and rage at him for putting her in it. 

She felt the heat of his breath on her stomach as he peered inside; then on back of her neck as he stood behind her, the tips of his rough fingers at the top of her buttocks as he inspected her like an animal. Then he was back in front of her again, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her head so he could inspect her nostrils. “Open your mouth. Ok, and show me your teeth.” She obeyed and he released her, stepping back and turning to the others. “Not a mark on her. She’s clean.” 

He crossed to join them around the fire as she snatched up her clothes, swearing under her breath as she dressed. As she was tying her laces, footsteps crossed the floor and she looked up to find Octavia standing over her, looking sheepish. “You ok? He has to do it.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Then come on.” She followed her to where they all sat, sitting down awkwardly beside Bellamy when he gestured for her to do so. He turned to look her thoughtfully up and down. When he spoke it was in a slow, cocky drawl that grated on her like nails on a chalkboard.

“So you’re a Green Grounder with no Crew. That’s not a good position to be in, Princess.”

“It’s not Princess, its Clarke. And what the hell’s a ‘Green Grounder’?”

A titter rose up at that and Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Can’t even speak the tongue yet. O, fill her in.”

Octavia turned to her, drawing her knees up to her chest. “They’re words from our language. We’re Grounders-People that sleep on the ground. The Homeless, I guess. Green means new. You’re a ‘Green Grounder’-Someone who hasn’t been on the streets long. You’ll learn it all soon enough. All crews have a ‘Heda’, or commander. The ‘head’ of the crew, get it? They’re in charge. Bel’s our Heda. And Raven’s his Second-that is his second in command.”

“Oh, so you get to play king and push everyone around?” Clarke couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at Bellamy.

“It isn’t like that.” She turned in surprise to find Octavia scowling at her and realised she’d somehow overstepped the mark. “HE isn’t like that.”

Bellamy cut her off. “I may be Heda, but a crew is a tribe, a family. And this isn’t a game, its real life. Out there on your own there are a million different ways to die-If you’re part of a crew, you’re protected. Do you want protection, Clarke?”

She thought about the place in Harvard Medical School that she’d given up to follow her real passion; She thought about the dream job at Time that would be waiting for her if she could only get through this and write the perfect story; but mostly she thought back to the night before, the green-eyed rapist with the oily voice, and the things he could have done if only they’d not been there to save her. She nodded.

“Yes. I want to be in your Crew.”

He nodded. “Good answer. Right, well if you want to be Sky Crew then there are a few rules. First and foremost: absolutely no drug use or dealing. You bring any of that shit within ten miles of here and I’ll fucking kill you. Second, if you trick do it somewhere else. I’ve got kids here and I’m not going to risk them being attacked by some pervert just so you can make a quick buck. Third, you have to be absolutely loyal to this crew and put them before anything. If you become Sky Crew we’ll look out for you, fight and die for you…and you’re expected to do the same for us, understood?” She nodded again. “And finally, if you want to join Sky Crew then you gotta take our mark.”

“Your mark?”

In response he slid off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt to reveal- seared into the flesh of his upper left arm- a brand, five inches across, in the shape of a medieval cross with the letters ‘S’ and ‘C’ in the middle. Around him the others began to move their clothing aside to reveal their own brands; Octavia and Raven’s on their chests just below their collar bones; Monty’s on his forearm; Jasper’s in the same spot as Bellamy.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Don’t worry Clarke, it doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Octavia stroked hers with her thumb almost lovingly. “All the crews have a mark. It shows that you’ve got people watching out for you.”

Raven nodded. “Exactly. And at least ours isn’t that big. That girl who kicked your ass- Echo. Did you see her face?”

She tried to remember. “She had…Scars…But…”

“Yeah, that’s their Mark-Facial scarification.”

“Christ.” 

She turned back to find Bellamy assessing her coolly. “So Clarke, what do you say? You wanna take the mark and join Sky Crew?” Behind him Jasper reached into the fire and drew out what looked like a poker. Her heart dropped like lead and her throat grew dry when she saw that same symbol they all had burnt into their skin had been soldered to one end, the metal glowing an angry orange red. 

This was another test-more of a test than they knew. She could say no, walk out, go back to her mother’s house and hand in her notice at the magazine…Or she could be brave, go the extra mile. It was just like a tattoo really, she told herself, even as a cold sweat broke out on her upper lip. And she’d always wanted one of those. At least this one would have a cool story to go with it. She took a deep breath. “O.k. I’m in.”

All of them except Bellamy cheered. Octavia moved to sit behind her as she unbuttoned her shirt, sliding her legs down either side of hers and hugging her close. “Don’t worry.” She whispered in her ear. “It will be over in a second. It’s ok, I got you.”

Bellamy took the glowing brand from Jasper and came to sit in front of her. “Are you sure?”

She nodded…And he pressed it into her skin.

She could smell the stench of her own flesh cooking, hear it sizzling like steak in a pan. The pain was excruciating, breath-taking. Her brain seized, her vision swimming, and then everything suddenly went black.

 

*************************************

 

When she woke up Octavia was cradling her in her arms, while Raven leant over her, smoothing cream onto the burn on her chest and dressing it carefully.

“Did I..?”

“Yeah, you fainted.” Jasper appeared above her, followed by Monty. “But at least you did better than my boy Monty, here. He cried like a little girl!”

“Well you threw up!”

“Still not as bad as crying, bro.”

Raven finished and helped Octavia lift her into a sitting position before pressing a warm bowl into her hands. “Here, it’s only canned stew but it’ll get your blood sugar up.”

Clarke didn’t care. She crammed it into her mouth with her fingers, savouring every bite. As she ate she glanced around her. “Where’s Bellamy?”

“Gone to get more food. He’ll be back soon.” They waited patiently until she’d licked the bowl clean before helping her to her feet. 

“So,” Jasper grinned at her. “Welcome to Sky Street Church, Clarke. Let’s start the tour!” 

Her chest was burning now, and she still felt dizzy, but his enthusiasm was infectious, so she let them lead her into the centre of the room and start pointing things out.  
“O.k, so that’s the Confessional where me and Monty sleep.” Jasper pointed at a nest of cardboard, pillows and blankets. “And up there at the altar, that’s where Raven and Octavia bed down.” He pointed to another nest, right in front of the old altar. 

Octavia smiled at her. “You can sleep there too, if you want.”

“Thanks.”

“’Course if it’s a real cold night we’ll all sleep by the fire, apart from Bellamy. He’s up there.” Jasper pointed up to the gallery where a single plastic chair was balanced in front of the rotting railing. “That’s his domain. Do NOT go up there and do NOT touch his stuff. Now, come see this!” He led them into the vestry and, with great ceremony, lifted a dirty oil cloth to reveal a grimy, chipped sink.

“A sink?”

“No, not just a sink. Watch this!” He reached over and turned a tap. There was an alarming chugging noise…And then water, clear as crystal, gushed out. Clarke gaped.

“Running water?!”

“Yep!” Octavia nodded proudly. “When the church authorities caught us squatting here Bellamy offered them a deal. They kept the water on and turned a blind eye if we looked out for the place and did some maintenance. It’s drinkable and everything!”

“Amazing!”

“Now, to the garden!” 

“You mean the graveyard?” Monty chided, but Jasper’s enthusiasm was undaunted.

“Whatever. Come on!”

 

Outside the air was crisp, thick with the earthy scent of autumn and the acrid tang of pollution. The sun was beginning to set above their heads as they made their way between the graves, the crumbling headstones throwing shadows through the long grass. Here and there a Yew tree grew, the soft breeze making its branches sing softly. It was peaceful, Clarke reflected, quiet. It almost felt safe. As they walked Monty and Jasper chatted happily.

“O.k, so it was Monty’s idea to have a garden…”

“Yeah, that’ s how we met-We did garden detail in juvi together. Anyway, I figured that if we could just cordon off a spot out here…”

“Away from all the bodies, obviously.”

“Obviously- then we could maybe grow our own food.”

“Nothing fancy; just a few beans, maybe potatoes if the ground isn’t too wet…”

“And tomatoes.”

“Yeah, tomatoes grow anywhere…”

“We just need to get seeds.”

“Great idea.” It really was quite beautiful here. Clarke paused for a moment to take it all in, noting the ornate stone angel memorials and the dusky pink roses that swarmed cross the old stone wall. Then something caught her eye and she paused, squinting to see it better. 

In the corner furthest away from the church grew an ancient and vast yew tree, it’s huge trunk at least five feet across- and beneath its boughs stretched out like protective arms nestled a lonely little grave, marked with a hand-made and gaudily painted cross and with a mound of hand-picked flowers at its base. Fascinated, she left them behind and made her way towards it, soon drawing close enough to read the words carefully daubed on the cross in white paint.

 

“Finn Collins, aged 17 years.  
May We Meet Again.”

 

“Who was Finn?” She wondered aloud.

“He was mine.” She turned to find Raven standing beside her, her gaze following hers. Her jaw was set, her face purposefully expressionless…Only the tears that shone in her eyes and the way her voice cracked as she spoke gave her away. “He was all I had.” She turned and gave her a sad little smile before making her way back towards the church, just as Octavia reached them. They both watched her go.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. How could you? He was though-all that she had. They came here together, a few winters ago. Raven was sick; Finn was so scared for her. Bel didn’t have it in him to turn them away. They grew up next door to each other-Finn’s dad a smack addict and Raven’s mom a drunk. After her stepdad wrecked her leg, Finn busted her out of the hospital and they ran away before he could come take her back. They’d never had anything else in their lives to love but each other, y’know?”

“So, what happened to him?” 

Octavia shrugged sadly. “We’re not sure. Last winter was really bad, snow four foot deep. We couldn’t get out to beg or pick-pocket, couldn’t boost cars; at one point Bel was trappin’ stray dogs and cats for us to eat. We were starving. You know what Bel said about your crew being your family? Finn truly believed that. We got up one morning and he was gone, had left a note sayin’ he was going to meet someone and get some money to buy food. He was missing for three weeks. We searched everywhere. Then a member of Pirate Crew found him in a warehouse down there. He was sliced up real bad-Bel wouldn’t let us see him, said it would fuck us up. He got the body, brought it back so we could bury him-He was one of us, y’know? Best we can guess is that he went to one of the dealers, offered to do Runner for them in exchange for money, and pissed them off somehow. He would have known a lot of them through his dad.”

“But Bellamy said no drugs.”

“Yeah, he said it back then too. Finn respected Bel as Heda, but they fought a lot... I guess in his mind he wasn’t about to let us all starve for Bel’s principles.”

“So it was Bellamy’s fault.”

“No!” Octavia shot her a reproachful glare. “What happened just proved Bel right-But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t really cut up about it. It was after we buried Finn that he started heading out when times get hard; sometimes coming back all beat up, but always with loads of cash.”

“And you don’t know where he goes?”

Octavia shook her head. “Nope, and he won’t say. I’m not sure I even want to know. But…It scares me.”

“He seems like he can look after himself.” It was meant to be comforting, but instead it seemed to make Octavia sadder. 

“Yeah, my brother’s a warrior. He always has been. That’s why he’s Heda.” She jerked her head over to where Jasper and Monty were watching them, concerned. “Come on, tour’s over. Let’s get inside and get warm.”

 

**********************************************

 

That night, huddled around the fire, she finally got to truly observe them as individuals, watching with a writer’s eye and noticing every gesture, every little nuance in their conversation. 

On closer inspection, Octavia was strikingly pretty, in that pixie-like way. However, her small stature and wiry limbs seemed to owe more to malnutrition than her age and, though young, her hunched shoulders and wary eyes suggested a young girl with a lot to bear. She was nervous, skittish, a feral animal ready to fight back at a moment’s notice, her hand reaching back for her sword at the slightest sound.

By contrast, Jasper and Monty’s teenage exuberance seemed almost immature. They talked a mile a minute, making jokes, bursting into song and taunting each other until inevitably one would pretend to throw a punch, and then they’d be rolling around on the floor, scrapping like puppies. Jasper was the taller of the two; gangly and skirting the edge of gawky, but with cheek bones sharp enough, brown eyes big enough, and brown hair floppy enough to make him boyband cute now and handsome in the future. He was bubbly and confident, commanding the conversation. 

Monty seemed the opposite. He was quiet and introverted, content to take a back seat and watch from beneath his thick blue black hair as his friend stole the show. At first glance they seemed to be best friends, as close as brothers…But then she looked closer and noticed how Monty often reached out to Jasper only to hesitate at the last moment, his hand hovering over the other boys arm or shoulder as if desperate to make contact, before seeming to change his mind and pull away again; how his black eyes searched the other boys face, his gaze lingering just a little too long…oh…so that was it. But did Jasper feel the same? Did Jasper even know? She watched, waiting for some sign-a secret smile or a subtle touch. But Jasper, oblivious, kept laughing and joking with Octavia. He only had eyes for her. 

She turned her attention to where Raven sat on her chair doing something Clarke couldn’t even begin to comprehend to a car battery with a screwdriver and set of pliers. 

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Mechanics class. Also got an A in Physics. What? You don’t think a Grounder like me can be smart? I was good in school ‘til my Mom moved that bastard in with us. I was picked first for everything.” 

But then that seemed to be Raven, determined to confound expectations- The beautiful Latina girl with serious skills and a bad boy swagger; who could probably still kick your ass even with one leg in a brace. Confident to the point of cockiness she seemed to be the only one in the group not in the least bit scared of Bellamy. 

Clarke bit her lip. “Look Raven, I just wanted to say sorry about what happened to your boyfriend.”

For a moment Raven’s face twisted in grief; then she was back tinkering with the battery again. “Thanks.”

“Octavia said he was murdered by drug dealers. Is that why you didn’t go to the Police? You were frightened they’d come after you all?”

Raven shook her head. “Nah, the Reapers-Police-don’t give a shit about us. A murdered Grounder just means one less for them to kick to death in a cell. And yeah, Finn was murdered. But it wasn’t by the dealers.”

Interesting. “What makes you think that?”

Raven stole a quick glance at the others to make sure they weren’t listening, before leaning in close and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Finn and Bellamy had their differences, sure, but Finn knew Bellamy’s reasons for being so anti-drugs, and he respected them. He wouldn’t have gone behind his back like that. And the…the way it happened doesn’t fit. The dealers want rid of someone, they usually just shoot them in the head-quick and clean. What happened to Finn was…different. Whoever he’d gone to meet that night, it wasn’t a dealer.”

“Have you told the others what you think?”

“Just Bellamy. At first he was too angry to listen, but…There are fewer and fewer Grounders around, it’s weird…He’s Heda-he wants to protect his crew, even if that means admitting that I might be onto something.”

Bellamy. He seemed to be the linchpin of them all. She turned to look up. In the gallery above their heads he sat in his chair like a king on his throne, legs swung up onto the rail and the muzzle of his rifle trained on the door. The tip of a cigarette glowed in the darkness. Raven followed her gaze.

“I know you think he’s a bastard-But I can tell you think he’s beautiful with it.”

Clarke squinted up into the shadows, noting how the firelight danced across his ochre skin and jet black hair, before lighting up his deep chocolate eyes. Beautiful? Yes, she supposed he could be, but there was also that primal wildness that told her to be cautious of him. Either way, he was definitely intriguing. She affected a nonchalant shrug.

“He’s ok, I guess. Did you guys ever..?”

“Fuck?” She blushed and Raven chuckled at her awkwardness. “Once.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-three.” So he was the eldest.

“And how old are you?”

Raven rolled her eyes at that. “I’m eighteen. Relax Clarke-Bel didn’t take advantage of me. I’m a big girl and I knew exactly what I was doing. Besides, it wasn’t like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he knows his way around a woman, but this was no casual screw. Finn had just died, I was lonely…I just wanted to be held, y’know? Bellamy understood.”

“He’s your friend.”

“Yeah, I guess, as much as Bel can be anyone’s friend. Y’know, sometimes I don’t like the guy, but I trust him, and I respect him. And he respects me for what I can do.”

Of course that would matter to her. Clarke sighed. “Well, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“That’s not personal-Bel doesn’t like anyone very much. But if you want to get in his good books, then you need to get Octavia on your side.” Raven jerked her head toward where Octavia was casually sharpening her sword with a rock as she talked with Monty. “She’s his little sister and, as far as he’s concerned, she hung the moon. He’s hella protective. You look out for Octavia and Bellamy will look out for you.”

Clarke turned back to the gallery. “He’s guarding us.”

“Yep. We lost two of our crew a month back; Harper and Fox. Just up and vanished-left their rolls, packs, everything. He’s been on edge ever since. He doesn’t like people leaving Sky crew.” 

Probably because it meant he couldn’t control them anymore, Clarke reflected. “So, is it a shift thing? Like, does he take the first watch?”

“Nah, he just watches all night.”

“Does he ever sleep?”

Raven shook her head. “Not much. Trust me; you should be grateful he doesn’t. When Bellamy sleeps, no one else gets to.”

It was a strange thing to say but before Clarke could ask her to elaborate Bellamy shouted down to them.

“OK EVERYONE, LIGHTS OUT!”

And then Raven was struggling to her feet and shoo-ing the others off into their respective corners. “Alright guys, you heard the boss, its bedtime! Monty, help me damp down the fire.”

So he even dictated when they had to sleep-Controlling bastard. As she followed Octavia and Raven toward the altar she turned to shoot a glare of annoyance up at Bellamy…Only to find him already watching her thoughtfully.

 

She waited until the air had filled with the night-time sounds of rhythmic breathing and soft snores before untangling herself from a sleeping Raven and Octavia and creeping carefully towards the door.

“Hey Clarke! Where do you think you’re going?”

Dammit. So he really didn’t sleep. She turned to look up to where Bellamy still sat glaring down at her, rifle at his side. “I just need to pee.”

To her relief he nodded. “You ok goin’ alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll manage.”

“Well if you’re longer than ten minutes I’m comin’ lookin’ for you.”

She wasn’t sure of that was a reassurance or a threat. “O.k, fine.” She’d have to be quick.

 

Outside the night-time streets were deserted. She pulled her hood over her head and ran, searching, growing more and more panicked until, beside a derelict 7/11, she finally found what she was looking for; A phone booth. She rushed inside and snatched up the receiver, pulling the phone card from her pocket and punching in the number hastily scribbled down on the back. For a few seconds the dial tone droned, then the automatic message clicked in.

“Hello, you’ve reached Time Magazine. Our offices are currently closed but if you leave your contact details and the office you require we’ll contact you as soon as possible. Please speak clearly after the tone….”

“Clarke Griffin, Freelance Lifestyle Intern. This is for Ms Gibbs, Editor. Tell her I’m fine and I’ve found her a story.” She hung up and stared at the phone for a few seconds, unsure, before lifting the receiver and dialling again. 

“Hello?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep, but still the sound of it brought tears to Clarke’s eyes. 

“Mom?”

“Clarke?! Clarke, where are you? You just left, you didn’t tell me anything. I got up and you were just gone! I’ve been going out of my mind! We called the police and then the magazine told us you were off doing that story! Where are you? Are you o.k?”

She looked down at her bloodstained clothing before reaching up to finger the cuts and bruises on her cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Marcus! Marcus, wake up-it’s Clarke! Yes! She’s on the phone! O.k, honey, just tell us where you are and Marcus is going to come pick you up…”

“I’m fine Mom. I’m working.”

She hung up the receiver and stared at it for a few minutes, biting her split lip in an effort to hold back the tears. Then she left the phone booth and hurried back to the church.  
Bellamy was waiting for her.

“You took your time, Princess.”  
“So you're timing bathroom breaks now? And quit calling me that. I’m nobody’s princess.” She ignored his death glare as she passed beneath the gallery. Tugging off her jacket and kicking off her boots, she slid beneath the mess of blankets and wriggled between Octavia and Raven’s sleeping bodies. Huddling close to them for warmth she reflected that, for this to truly work, she’d have to leave herself behind. She couldn’t be anyone’s daughter, anyone’s employee…

 

From now on in, she could only be Sky Crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time....Jasper gets himself into trouble, we meet Tree Crew, and Clarke overhears something interesting.
> 
> Please take the time to comment and/or leave kudos. I'll love you forever if you do! Next chapter will be up next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Next time-Clarke finds herself in a dangerous situation....


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